The Saga You'll Never Forget
by Jiang Qing
Summary: This is an epic tale about friendship, loyalty and liberation. A beautiful masterpiece of a fierce, and loving companionship . This is the story of how Harry Potter gave the Sorting Hat its Hattist Rights.
1. Chapter 1

**Harry's POV**

Today was the day of The Hogwarts Sorting. More appropriately, it was the first day of a new Hogwarts term, the first day of me no longer being a miserable little second year, but far more mature and eloquent. Oh yes, third year had arrived. Unfortunately for me, it may be a slight strain this year to be so-called 'mature' and 'poised', not because I haven't got the will- and when there's a will, there's a way- but because of the simple reason being that there is a murderous psychopath on my tail that wishes to… murder me. Siriusly. I need a break, but everything just keeps on coming towards me right, left and frickin' centre. True, I doubt if books would be written if I did not have a _least_ one adventure per year- who wants to read about a bespectacled boy brushing his teeth?- but Voldemort, more Voldemort and now some murderous fool from Azkaban? Do people take into account my lessening mental state? If I'm in St Mungos by the time I'm twenty-five, raving and _having pleasant conversations with Lockhart_, then guess who I shall blame?

Correct- that bearded villain Albus Dumbledore. I know that in him I am meant to have the _ultimate faith_ but there's something about that particular man. Why does he keep inviting me to his office? His 'cosy chats' are beginning to make me wonder if there may be an ulterior motive beneath 'wanting the best for me'. And last time I had such 'cosy chat' he offered me strawberries dipped in melted chocolate. He forced on me an entire bottle of champagne. Deep down I began to suspect. Was this honoured professor deliberately trying to get me drunk? If so, why? He obviously wanted something, something that I would be in no position to give him if I was sober… After much thought I had found my answer. Professor Albus Dumbledore was after my Nimbus Two-Thousand. Just think, a man with all his money, all his fame, is deliberately forcing alcoholic liquor down the throat of one so frightfully underage in order to acquire a second hand broomstick which ain't that good. I tried to tell him during our tête-à-tête, that Draco Malfoy, and the entirety of the Slytherin Quidditch Team for that matter, were in possession of Nimbus Two Thousand _and ones,_ in the hope that he would remove the bottle from my lips and put the strawberries in the fridge in order to eat a more suitable time. However, I only succeeded in making a faint glugging noise, and spilling champagne down my robes. Luckily for me, Dumbledore seemed to realise the error of his ways and sent me from his office in haste. I suppose the true reason for such inexcusable behaviour will remain a mystery. Anyway- that was last year.

So I merely sit here, waiting for the sorting to begin. It's true that I am still rather shaken by that episode on the train. Dementors I have decided, are unpleasant creatures that should have been left in Azkaban. As for those people that say "They are for your own good!" in increasingly high pitched voices, I have something to say right back. Don't. Tell. Them. That. I have a feeling that if they knew they were patrolling the school for little old me, they may try and become my friends. And to be honest, I have enough little buddies as it is. I mean Ron… could he ever get irritating? And Hermione, the amounts of stupid mistakes she makes daily are so hilarious that I frequently laugh my arse off in the most unsophisticated manner. Really, I could not ask for better companions, and the Dementors will never take their place. That is my last word in the matter and I will stand by decision. Particularly if Dumbledore tries to bribe me with more alcoholic beverages. Some things just get so far, then you realise it has to stop. Unfortunately by the time you realise it has to stop, such things are often so out of control that it is impossible to cease with them. Like Hagrid's secret crack habit, though by God, it's not a secret anymore…

The doors of the great Hall swing open and there stand a very miserable group of First Years, some actually shaking with fear and cold. I felt like shouting at them :"Cheer up, it might not happen!" But let's face it, 'it' already has. They've become wizards and witches, for some (the muggleborns) their little worlds have been turned upside down. If I could help the poor little souls… I still wouldn't. One because becoming a wizard will possibly become the greatest thing that will ever happen to them. Two, because I just can't be asked. Helping people requires effort, and to be brutally truthful (although I have been diagnosed with a 'hero complex') today I'm not in the right mind. Let them shiver, let them cry. It's good for you in the future. That, or you'll just die early. Some call me callous, some call me pitiless, some call me cruel. Whatever. If you look those three up in the dictionary you'll see that they all mean the same thing. No, I am none of those. I am Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Survivor, the Chosen One… the Boy Who Is Hitting Puberty The Same Time As Everybody Else. Surely just because I managed to resist a killing curse way back when I was yay high, doesn't mean that I am not entitled to the same mood swings and bodily urges that camp out in boys of a similar age. Puh-lease. Nobody's perfect.

I watched with cold-eyes which I thought betrayed little or no interest as the Sorting Hat was placed on it's little three legged stool. It was only later that Ron informed me that I was on the edge of my seat, eyes wide and muttering furiously "it better be a good song this year… It better be a good song…" Well, well; what can I say? Different things affect different people. Hermione would usually say something here like 'simple things for simple minds,' but naturally I would return her waspish comment with something equally as cutting and clever. "Whatever, shut up," may do. Or even better: "I'm not talking to you anymore!" Hey- that one worked at Primary school.

_It has come to that time of year again,_

_Where I arrange the houses,_

_I separate the Lions from the_

_Eagles, Snakes and Mouses…_

Mouses? It seemed to me that the Sorting Cap was not worth the reputation it was given. Number one, it didn't seem to realise that Hufflepuff was in fact represented by a _badger_ not a mouse, so no wonder half the Hufflepuff house suffered from inferiority complexes and had the biggest drop-out rate of any wizarding school in the country (though thinking about it, that's not particularly difficult as _we are_ the only wizarding school in the country). Secondly, the Sorting Hat's grammar was appalling.

_I know that Hufflepuff's a badger, _

_But nothing rhymes with that…_

On the contrary, I'm sure if you permitted yourself access to a rhyming dictionary or the internet, these two wonderful things would give you many, _many_ fine examples of what rhymes with "badger".

_After all I'm only cloth,_

_A ragged Sorting Hat. _

_So Slytherin with the massive beard that_

_Went down to his toes,_

_Very useful when he had a cold,_

_For he could wipe his nose._

Wait. What?

_Ravenclaw with all her brains,_

_Her beauty and her grace._

_Until she slipped on a banana skin_

_And fell flat upon her face. _

_Gryffindor, he was so brave, _

_A lion with deadly paws!_

_He often said to Slytherin,_

"_My sword's bigger than yours."_

_And finally there is Hufflepuff,_

_She truly was a brick,_

_Some said that she was loyal and true…_

_But she was in fact, just thick._

_And now I have to sort you,_

_Into houses: Whose is whose?_

_I hope you have no preferences_

_Cos you don't _fucking_ get to choose. _

Naturally, after that little performance there was a rather stunned silence. I watched amused as all eyes from the teacher's table turned accusingly to Fred and George- the only ones, in their minds, who would dare play such a trick. Before the twins truly knew what was going on, they had been shoved from the Great Hall to have a shouting session with Scary Professor Flitwick himself. Of course, I could have stood up for them, knowing full well they were innocent, but why bother? For once Harry Potter is snapping back. And this time I'm ruthless. It was obvious that the Hat was sick and tired of his performances, and that he merely wanted to retire. Unsurprisingly, this was wishful thinking. Who else was going to do the sorting? Snape? Is it desirous for the entire world to implode?

"Harry," Hermione Granger, companion and reputably a female leant towards me, her brown eyes wide. "Why… why did the Sorting Hat use such disgusting language?"

A ha. A question that finally Miss Brainy-Bags could not answer. However, I could not either. I had two options: I could admit I didn't know… or I could make up the bullshittiest answer possible and hope that she believed it. Some choice.

I straightened my shoulders, and slid my glasses down to the end of my nose so I could observe the girl with a wide-worldly expression that displayed all my knowledge on the matter (aka, very little). "You see, Hermione," my voice had already become deeper and more rhythmical, like a nursery-school teacher telling young children a Brother's Grimm story and waiting for them to cry. "You see Hermione, the Sorting Hat is going through a difficult time. He is effectively tired of existence, feels isolated and that nobody cares about him. Being a hat, he can do nothing about the deep black, abyss of his life, but instead has to run his course, feeling bleaker and bleaker at every corner. Nobody can feel his pain, his negative attitude to the constant doom that disguises itself as a _life_. If you cared to look at it, sitting in Dumbledore's office, you would see it's tears coursing down it's black fabric not-face, and you too can share it's _sheer misery_ as you encounter the first ever wizard's hat with suicidal tendencies."

"So, what you're actually trying to say is," Hermione started fiddling with her dessert spoon. "Is that The Sorting Hat has psychological problems and wishes to be recycled into something else such as… a Sorting Cloak."

"Yes!" I nodded hard and momentarily forgot that my spectacles precariously balanced. With a little tinkle, they smashed to the floor. "Oh dear."

"Harry, that's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard in my life."

"On the contrary, I'm sure The Sorting Hat would agree. I feel for it, actually. I know what it's like to feel… repressed." I stared very hard at Miss Hermione Granger, hoping she would get the hint. Instead she gave a roll of her eyes, and started a conversation with Lavender Brown on her immediate right. I just sat there and stared at the back of her head. Stupid, curly fizzgog… Tearing my eyes away, I settled back onto the Sorting Hat, which appeared to be _looking at me,_ and _nodding. _Tentatively, I gave a small wave. The Sorting Hat did not return the gesture, so that was that then. Rude little _bastard_.

It was only later when I realised it possessed no arms, so the chances of it waving back were pretty slim. But still. Instead, I raised my eyebrows encouragingly, hoping for a response. I got one- the Sorting Hat twitched in my general direction, and it's black fabric not-eye winked. I returned the favour.

"Harry…" It was Ronald who was now on my case. "Why are you winking at Pansy Parkinson?"

"Parkinson, you red-headed fool?" Distracted, I let my tongue run away with me, forgetting that Ronald was one who I had, perhaps mistakenly, labelled 'friend'. "Don't be so stupid. I'm winking at The Sorting Hat."

"The Sorting Hat, Harry? Why?"

"Because I can empathise with it."

There was a short, rather confused silence. As I gave a sidelong glance, I could see that Ronald had his face screwed up in the most monkeyish of facial expressions, articulating I suppose, his surprise. I really _was_ distracted. I should have known that was Ron's normal face. Then:

"Harry, I'm worried about you."

"Why would that be, Ron?" I attempted to keep my voice light-hearted, but my true concentration was on the Sorting which was now in full-swing. The Sorting Hat was pissing it up on purpose of course- he put one boy that looked like he had never seen a school book in the entirety of his life into Ravenclaw, whilst one other boy with "I'M OUT TO DESTROY HUMANITY" tattooed on his bicep was promptly put into Hufflepuff. One filly with rather fetching pink daisies interwoven into her hair, and clutching a rather bedraggled toy pony was sorted to Slytherin and was immediately mutilated by vicious third years, including those old charmers Crabbe and Goyle. How I laughed. By that of course, I meant wept.

"Harry, look at me," It seemed like the ginger-follicled prat was still attempting to speak- so sighing, I looked him squarely in the eye.

"What do you want?"

"I'm worried about you. You seem… different now. Different from last year."

"That's not surprising is it?"

"No, I guess. I mean if some creepy psycho was trying to murder my face, I guess I would be pretty gutted."

"Once again Ronald I commend you for your character and understanding."

He gave his usual gormless grin. "Thanks, Harry."

"However, due to your unfortunate hair colour, I cannot take you seriously."

Turning back to watch the Sorting Hat, I watched it sort the last few, seemingly entirely at random. Finally the formalities were over, and the Hat was placed back on the stool, to be removed at the end of the feast. It turned towards me. It nodded. I nodded back, and threw it over half a treacle pudding. Unfortunately I missed my target, and could only watch as it went soaring over the Hufflepuff table and hit Professor Snape squarely in the face. As expected, for some obscure reason so-called Potions Master decided to take offence towards this small, yet blatant to anybody else, affectionate accident. The overgrown bat leapt to his feet and started shrieking:

"Who threw that? If I ever catch the person that did this, I will _make sure_ they are expelled!" His words were greeted with half a chicken to the solar plexus, looking suspiciously like it was thrown by a certain Mr Dean Thomas.

"RIGHT!" In a fit of rage, and most unbecoming for a man of his 'reputation', Snape left the teacher's table and ran towards the general direction of which the chicken was thrown. As expected, not looking where he was going, he tripped over the three legged stool and the Sorting Hat tumbled to the ground. Hastily Snape picked it up, and for some reason (someone or _something _must have compelled him to do it) he jammed it on his head.

There was a short, tense silence as the whole school looked over at Professor Snape, waiting for the Sorting Hat to give it's verdict. At first it looked like it was going to say nothing at all. Then, without warning, the brim opened and…

"PISSHEAD."

The entire Hall- including the teacher table- erupted into cheers and applause. Snape's eyes flashed with murder, and without a word he swept from the Great Hall with a billow of his cloak. Laughing, I glanced over to the Sorting Hat, and I could _swear upon my life_ that it gave me a dazzling, yet fabricky grin.

This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.


	2. Chapter 2

**Harry's POV**

At last free from the chains of pleasant mealtime conversation-thanks to the fact that I had accidentally made Snape so angry that he had threatened to kill students, and the other professors decided to make all houses go back to their common rooms for their own safety-I skipped up the many, many staircases to Gryffindor common room with a new lightness in my step and a rhythm in my heart. I was slightly aware that the living, breathing ginger nut was trying to engage me in what he thinks in a 'discussion', but I feigned deafness in order not to upset my new beautiful mood.

"So Harry, what are you going to do? You're not… you're not going to go after him are you?"

See what I mean? Pure, utter claptrap. Well, I suppose what would you expect? He's a Weasley, he's not well endowed in the brain department, and altogether such a combination makes it necessary for the resulting product to be ignored. Miss Granger, however…

In a sudden flourish of my arms, I attempted to spin Granger in the way of one of those salsa dancers in Spain. Unfortunately, I forgot that one does not usually perform such extravagant gestures so she may not have been prepared to tango _avec moi._ You could say, it may have taken her by surprise. Also unfortunately, and perhaps most importantly, I forgot we were climbing a staircase. Whatever. The end result is that she fell down about twenty, hard, cold stone steps.

"OW! Harry!" Her pathetic feminine screams reverberated across the castle. I stared down at her, trying to contain a grin when I saw that her curls were all over the place, rather like her head had exploded. In a trice, Ron had pushed past me, and helped her up to her feet, which seemed to be repeatedly giving way. Silly child. Conjure a crutch and stop being so pitiable.

"OI!" Ron's boyish, charming, dulcet tones joined in the yelling that I suppose was for my 'benefit'. "What the _ruddy hell_ did you do that for?"

I shrugged. "Felt like it."

"FELT LIKE IT?" The Ginger Ninja's ears went patchy red with rage. "You _felt_ like shoving her down the stairs?"

"It's alright Ron, it doesn't matter…" Weakly, Granger Girl tried to push Ron away, only to stagger backwards and almost fall down another flight. It was like watching a really amateur circus. "I'm sure he didn't mean it…"

"Yeah!" My smile threatened to take over my face. "I didn't mean it Ronald, so stop er… _shouting, _and lets go to the common room. Do you know the password?"

"To… to… to.. _ruddy hell_ with the password!" Ron's face was beginning to match his ears, and it was not an attractive combination with his red hair- rather like a sunburnt bald guy donning a really hideous wig. "I want to know why you pushed Hermione down the stairs!"

"I didn't," Oh I was _calm_, I was _poised_, I was _wonderful_. Perhaps my targets for Third Year weren't going to be so hard after all. "I merely tried to demonstrate to her the ways of the tango. I apologise for any injuries, and believe me, I will _not_ be paying for insurance."

Both stared at me blankly for a moment or so, but the atmosphere was still as thick and cold as ice. I could see that neither of them understood my true intention, and that they both thought I had deliberately shoved Hermione down the steps for no apparent reason. My first reaction to this was rage. Would I push my beautiful, female friend down to her death? _Would_ I? How dare they! How dare they accuse me, Mr Harry Potter of being such a complete and utter bastard? Then, remembering in my temper, I had never attempted such an action before, I changed my tune. Perhaps they were just confused? Especially for Ronald, who, to be quite frank, confuses far too easily, my sudden burst of tango dancing _may have been seen as an attempt at a rather brutal murder. _So I did the only thing I could. I apologised, gracefully and er… with grace.

"I'm sorry. I…" I caught sight of Hermione's face, her eyes still wide and fearful of my volatile nature. Oh well, so what? Life goes on. No, instead I let my eyes travel _downwards_ towards her more womanly parts. There, nestled between _them_ was a fine chain with something tiny and golden on he end. Something that looked like a…

"That's a pretty necklace," my voice was soft and garnished with cherry blossom. Hermione went red, and grabbed at the chain, hurriedly stuffing it inside her robes.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

_Ah I see. One of those._ I gave my female friend a bedazzling grin that said quite clearly _I know your secret. _I didn't, not really, but that was beside the point. I knew what the necklace _looked_ like, I didn't know what it _did_. Yet. I would find out. However, my bedazzling grin had the desired effect. Hermione went from red to yellow to green, pursed her lips and said nothing. Ron (bless the little spack-tard) didn't seem to have a clue what was going on, but instead was still fixated with the pushing-down-the-stairs-scenario which happened _aeons_ ago. I let him bluster out his confusion, wondering whether it was acceptable for me to curse him so early on in the term, bearing in mind that I was being chased by a psychotic wand-wielding maniac. I could blame any damage inflicted on others by claiming a 'nervous breakdown'. _I _the victim here. And for once it was sweeeeeet.

Unfortunately, Hermione seemed to notice my hand draw casually towards my wand, and she decided to have a desperate attempt to change the subject. "So Harry, aren't you glad that Hagrid got the Care of Magical Creatures position?"

"Delighted," Even to my own fabulous ears, I sounded sarcastic. I noticed both Hermione and Carrot-Top shared a strange look. Suddenly, I was sick of both of them. Why were they both on my back? Why were they acting like I had turned into the Nutty Man of Grimshaw or something? Suddenly, and rightfully livid again, I turned to the Fat Bint's Portrait and demanded to be let into the common room.

"Password?"

I didn't have a clue, so I turned to my companions, who were still giving me a mixture between the worried and evil eye. In order to keep my sanity, I ignored it and demanded to know the password. Both replied that sadly, they didn't know either. Once again, my listeners, I had to struggle with my temper. Were _their _lives threatened? Were _they_ being chased by some mental marvel of escapism? Then answer, of course is _non. _And yet neither can be bothered to remember a simple password.

In annoyance, I turned to the Fat Laydee, and gave her a slightly insulting perhaps, but perfectly fair ultimatum: "You let us pass through without a password, and I'll give you some free diet tips." I added a roguish wink, to emphasise the fact that if she shed the buffalo clinging to her thighs and stomach, some other canvas-y, painted fools out there might find her attractive. Unfortunately, and unreasonably, she took my suggestion the entirely wrong way.

"WHAT? Are- are-ARE YOU KIDDING?"

I shook my head gravely. "No. I'm being perfectly Sirius."

"HOW _DARE_ YOU?"

As I said, my entire suggestion was taken completely out of context. Fatty was shrieking like somebody had set her canvas on fire, whilst Hermione and the Red Headed Bandit had dropped their 'funny looks' game and were now openly questioning me.

"Harry!" Hermione, once again sounded quite fearful. "What's the matter with you? You're acting really _strangely._"

"Stop being so weird!" Ron, in all his charm and elegance, joined the free for all. "Harry, you're being such a prick!"

Luckily for me, his know-it-all pompous popinjay for a brother unintentionally managed to intervene. "Coming through, coming through! The new password's _Fortuna Major!" _

Glaring at me, the Portrait swung open and let everybody through, including Ron and Hermione. However, as I began to stick my leg through, the portrait swung shut again.

"I'm not letting _you_ through."

"_Fortuna Major!"_

"I don't care. It's still a no."

"Listen Lady," I was dimly aware that I was speaking like a gangsta, but I carried on anyway, falling more and more into my role of being a complete 'prick' and 'bastard', as I had previously been described. "You're job is to listen to the password, and if it's correct let us through. It is NOT to decide who you're going to have a vendetta against one minute, and proceed to bully them when all they were offering was sound advice. Why so grumpy anyway? You're a painting- you can't even get PMT! _Now let me in!_"

Giving me the most hideous look known to man, the Fat Lady didn't even have the courtesy to reply, but instead just flittered out of her frame, off to visit to someone who probably had a load of chocolate she could stuff down her throat. Well that's the way it was. Humiliated and fuming (again) I dropped to the cold, hard floor.

"Fine! But I'm not moving until you come back! I'll prove my point and I'll win too!" However, I didn't bank on how long the fat bird would be. Minutes, I fancied before she'd cave in. Nah- forget minutes, more like hours. It was two in the morning, it was dark and I was freezing with no blanket. All that, and if a professor came along, I would be completely fucked. Livid, I gritted my teeth and rolled over onto the side that wasn't numb. If it wasn't for the Sorting Hat, today would have completely sucked…

The Sorting Hat.

And lo and behold, I had found the answer to all my problems.

Despite being so stiff that I could have been mistaken for a corpse, I sat up so fast, I almost gave myself whiplash. Ah ha! There wasn't a _chance_ I was going to lie here all night! None at all of allowing that Fat Bitch have the satisfaction of seeing me curled up here in the cold light of day like a dead cat! No, I was going on a small adventure to find my destiny- that rather clever, if not entirely fetching piece of headwear. But you know me; I rarely judge on appearances. And besides, it couldn't be that hard. It only meant sneaking around the castle in the dead of early morning, risking being caught and severely punished, then having the nerve to break into Dumbledore's office without waking the old sod.

Dumbledore- he who forced upon me strawberries and champagne.

For a moment, my resolve disintegrated. Over the summer I had been diagnosed with a allergy to berries- and if Dumbledore indeed again tried to force upon me such fruit then Sirius Black would be severely disappointed, having found out he had no one to kill. That, and sadly, Death By Berry-ness™ didn't sound too glamorous. I'd rather be blasted to death by some psychotic black hearted villain, than found on Dumbledore's rug, half a strawberry poking out of my mouth, covered in hives with a tongue the size of a small dog. Oh no. But… The Sorting Hat. And if Dumbles was _asleep_ then surely he wouldn't feel quite so fruity…

Painfully, I got to my feet, and headed off to the Top Floor in search of my on-calling destiny. Yes, I'd find the Sorting Hat, and WOE BETIDE anyone who attempted to stop me, and got in my way! I am Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the Main Man. Yeah!

And I'll have a decent conversation with it too.


End file.
